Regrets
by imnotacommittee
Summary: We all have done things we wish we could take back
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer:** _The Sound of Music_ belongs to 20th Century Fox. No infringement is intended. All original characters are mine.

**Rating**: T

**Setting**: Stefanverse, set about one month before _Nearly Was_. As with this AU, the Anchluss hasn't happened yet. The Von Trapps have too much other stuff to worry about.

**Warning**: This story crept up on me when I thought that life wasn't always raindrops on roses for this family, even is Stefanverse. There had to be some moments when there was some tension. Some may disagree with the choices of a character in this story, but it was something I wanted to explore.

**Gratitude**: To Ilandra, who always, _always_ knows what I mean and is invaluable in helping me bring it out. Thank you for looking at this twice and one troublesome bit a third time. You're a gem! Also, thank you to Joolsfan, who was the first to hear of the idea as we sat in a pub. I'm sorry it took me eight months to finally get it out, but you know how things go. Also, thank you to Monroe-Hepburn, who was wonderfully patient and constant in her inquiries in how the story was going. I hope you enjoy!

**Regrets**

The Von Trapp Villa was uncharacteristically quiet. It felt as if time had stopped and all that was left was a heavy, leaden immobility that pressed upon the house.

Even the air was still. And it was hot. It was the oppressive, draining heat that seemed to lay over Salzburg like a heavy blanket. No birds chirped, and it was possible that the fish were too hot to swim. There was no breeze to offer any relief. Outside, the Untersburg mirrored in the still glass lake surface.

Only the bugs seemed to relish in the heat. They sang with abandon, mocking the rest of the world which was too lethargic to move.

The Von Trapp children sat motionless inside the living room, which had never felt so small. They were molded into their surroundings, both heat and raw emotions draining them from any movement.

The sun was finally starting to descend behind the trees, bringing what felt like the longest day into darkness. Maybe the night would also bring some comfort, for everyone was on edge and the heat was only intensifying it. The silence was deafening.

Louisa shifted and rubbed her neck in a futile effort to remove the sweat coating it. Kurt thumbed through a novel, not registering the words. Marta and Gretl had long since forgotten to dress their naked dolls. Friedrich was playing cards with Liesl's fiancé, Gunter. Neither was positive what the score was. The only child displaying any type of movement was Stefan, who sat at Louisa's feet and made occasional swooshing sounds as he moved his toy boat over the carpet.

Sitting stoically alone on the windowsill was Brigitta, her face a mask of guilt-ridden fear. Occasionally, her siblings would cast a quick glance at her, only to turn away when her eyes moved to meet theirs. No one had spoken to her in hours.

All of the maids and footmen seemed to have vanished. Well, it was Sunday; they were with their families. Except for Frau Schmidt, who was upstairs.

There was an odd sense of déjà vu; the children were scattered about, the tension draping over them. But there were striking differences. Their father wasn't with them, and the fear far outweighed the hesitant happiness.

Brigitta wrung her hands together, her wide eyes on the verge of tears. The older children couldn't help but feel sorry for their sister. Brigitta always said what was on her mind, and they knew she hadn't meant for things to get so out of control. The younger ones were too confused to understand the whole story. They only knew what was happening at the moment.

Stefan crashed two boats together, and the entire group jumped. The boy looked up at Louisa. "So quiet."

Her attempt to smile failed. "We're all just praying, Stefan," she answered.

The child pursed his lips together. "Why?"

"For Mother and the baby," Gretl answered, and Stefan's eyes widened, not understanding.

"The baby will be born today, Stefan," Marta said, her voice assuring. "Soon, you'll be a big brother!"

The boy brightened for a moment, but then fell silent again, as if wondering why everyone was so grave on what had been promised to be a happy event.

Louisa rubbed his head. "Mother is just working very hard to bring the baby into the world, Stefan," she said. "Having a baby can be challenging."

"He doesn't need to know that," Kurt snapped.

Louisa glared at him. "He doesn't need to be lied to either."

"Please," Friedrich pleaded before the argument could continue. Awkwardness joined the tension in the silence.

"I wish someone would come down and say something, just to let us know what was going on," Marta said after a moment. "I hate not knowing."

"They're all busy upstairs," Gunter said.

Gretl sighed. "I wish I could hear Mother, like we could when…" she trailed, casting a quick glance to Stefan. "If we could hear her, then we'd know she was at least still…"

"Stop it!" Kurt snapped again. "It's just different this time."

Louisa stole a glance at Brigitta, who looked as if she was about to be sick.

"Please, everyone," Friedrich said, "let's just remain calm and pray for the best. I'm sure Father or Liesl will come down soon, saying the baby and Mother are fine."

"Her time isn't until for another three weeks," Marta said, her mouth forming a tight line of worry.

Gretl quickly glanced to the windowsill and then down to her doll again. "She wouldn't have been outside. She wouldn't have been running –"

"That's enough, Gretl," Louisa interrupted. "What's happened has happened."

The group returned into the discontented silence. Gunter shuffled the cards, and Kurt flipped the novel back to its start. Stefan studied the bow of his toy boat, and Marta and Gretl finally remembered to dress their dolls.

The sound of footsteps broke into the fragile calm. The children had seemed to stop breathing and turned. Gunter quickly rose and walked over to Liesl, who was standing in the doorframe, her expression drained.

The eldest Von Trapp brightened as her fiancé approached her. Taking his hand, she sighed, the exhaustion making her look ten years older. She gazed around the room.

"Liesl?" Gretl's voice was unnervingly quiet.

"A girl," Liesl said. "Klara."

The collective breath was released, trailed by an escape sob from Marta. Kurt buried his face in his hands, and Friedrich ran his hand through his hair. Louisa hugged Stefan close.

"She's small, but healthy," Liesl continued, grasping Gunter's hand. "She's beautiful."

"And is… is…"

All turned to Brigitta, whose eyes were shining.

Liesl stared at her sister, her expression unreadable. She breathed in sharply, as if looking for the gentlest words.

"She's very weak; we thought she had started to hemorrhage – "

"What?" Gretl asked.

"She lost a lot of blood," Liesl explained. "The doctor stopped it, but she…"

Brigitta's face turned even whiter.

"The doctor believes she will recover, but it'll take a while. She'll be in bed for at least a month," Liesl continued.

Kurt swallowed. "But she _will_ be all right, won't she?"

Liesl nodded quickly. "The doctor thinks so, but it will take a while," she repeated, shaking her head and looking desperately at Gunter. He guided her to an obliging chair. Marta and Gretl walked over to her, and Liesl hugged them close. Gunter squeezed her shoulder.

Friedrich swallowed. "How is Father?"

His sister paused. "He's confident she will be all right."

Stefan shuddered despite the oppressive heat. "May I see Mama?"

Liesl smiled. "Father is with her for a moment, Stefan," she answered. "He wanted to stay with her alone for a little while. He'll come down shortly and will take you to see her."

Louisa stole a glance to the windowsill, and her eyes widened.

Brigitta had vanished.

To be continued...


	2. Part 2 a

It was usually Louisa or one of the boys who were the experts at sneaking around. When they had been playing tricks on the governesses, Brigitta had been happy to prepare the prank, but would remain in her bedroom while her siblings took the risk of planting it. She also was best at thinking of their cover stories if they were ever questioned. She was never good at hiding in the shadows.

But she was learning. If she wanted to go outside undetected, she had learned the best time of day to go, the spots in the long halls that creaked and needed to be avoided, and the best pieces of furniture to hide behind. She was always an observant girl; now she was learning how to take advantage of her perception.

It was only a necessity that she had learned how to sneak around. If her parents had been fair, she wouldn't have had the need.

A few months earlier, Brigitta had asked her parents if she could attend lectures at the local library. She had thought that they would encourage her pursuits. But they had refused to let her go, saying that they should go with her, and neither were able to attend due to their busy schedules. When she said she was old enough to go alone, they had rebuffed the idea, not because they disapproved of the topics, but they were wary of the growing atmosphere in Salzburg and didn't think it was a good idea for her to be in town alone. They didn't know how much that had hurt her. She was old enough to take care of herself; they had taught her well. She knew the types of people to avoid, and she had really wanted to attend those lectures. Her school friends had all said they were going, and she didn't want to be left behind.

If her parents would have just listened to her instead of being so stubborn, they would have realized that. She had only snuck out because they refused to understand and simply let her go.

It all came to a crashing end this morning, when her parents had confronted her in the parlor. Caught off-guard and cross at being cornered, she had snapped back, determined to show them their error in judgment. They'd remained infuriatingly calm, and that had made her angrier. Before she could stop it, she felt as if someone else was taking over. Someone who was crueler than she ever imagined herself to be.

When reason returned, it was too late. They all stood in stunned silence, none more shocked than she. She had been unable to stand the stricken looks on her parents' faces. Bolting from the parlor, she'd ignored her father's angry call and just run faster.

And then it fell apart in a horrible blur. She didn't even know it had happened until she heard her father's frantic yell, the anger in his voice replaced with panic. She had turned and saw the group huddled together, surrounding someone on the ground.

Brigitta angrily wiped away the tears that were blinding her. An imprisoned sob escaped, and she covered her mouth, shaking with pent up rage and pain. She flung herself violently against the wall, grateful for the shadows concealing her. Her stomach lurched and she bent over, unable to breathe. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her cheeks. She felt frozen in the sticky humidity. She gulped in deep, desperate breaths as hot tears fought for release.

The others were still downstairs, probably not even noticing her absence. She knew they all blamed her.

_And why shouldn't they?_ the angry voice in her head demanded. _It _is_ your fault. You said it. You caused the pain on their faces, on _her_ face. You ran outside. Of course they would follow you, they were only concerned._

Brigitta choked in huge breaths. Slowly, air returned to her lungs, and she rubbed her eyes, wishing her heart would stop pounding in her chest. She remained hunched over, encased in the long shadows of the early evening. She debated going downstairs and waiting for the consequences to unfold.

Voices soon entered her head, and she looked over. Frau Schmidt and the doctor were walking towards her. Brigitta shrunk further against the wall, listening.

"The room across the hall has been prepared for you, doctor," the housekeeper was saying. "You will want to freshen up. I'll have a meal brought up to you."

"Thank you, Frau Schmidt." Doctor Kessler's familiar voice was tired. Brigitta squinted as she studied them. The doctor's shirt was stained and he seemed to be soaked in sweat. "I would like to talk to the children, but I'm afraid my appearance will frighten them."

"Liesl has already gone down to them, doctor," Frau Schmidt said. "The news is as good as it can be."

There was an uneasy silence as they walked away, and Brigitta strained to hear more.

"…should be… the next twenty-four hours will be…"

Brigitta was numb. She remained crouched along the wall, her thundering heart the only sound filling her ears. The house once again fell into that terrifying silence, and the temptation to return to the parlor grew inside her.

The sunset's warm orange glow spilled through the windows, and the crickets' song echoed across the lake. Brigitta sighed and rose, the doubt vanishing as her determination returned.

Feeling herself drawn to her parents' room, Brigitta struggled to even her breathing. She needed an absolution. She was desperate for it. She gulped at the threat that it might be too late.

She pushed the door open as quietly as she could. Her stomach was fluttering and her heart was pounding, but her resolve was stronger.

The Von Trapp children rarely had reason to enter the master bedroom. Since their parents' marriage nearly four years ago, the children's fears, even of thunderstorms, had subsided. Only Stefan still ventured inside, but even that was uncommon. He usually went to her and Louisa's room first for comfort.

But Brigitta knew the room well. The door revealed the short hallway, concealing the bed where her parents slept, where her first mother had died…

Brigitta continued forward, filled with some sort of morbid curiosity. From around the corner, she heard the familiar noises that only a newborn could make. She paused, soaking in the sound of her newest baby sister and feeling somewhat relieved.

She knew that there was a large chair right around the corner that she could easily hide behind. She wouldn't be noticed. Holding her breath, she listened for any indication that her father was near. Nothing but the infant's coos could be heard. Unnerved by the lack of sound, Brigitta sank to the floor and crept around the corner.

The stale smell of blood assaulted her, and she held her breath against the sudden nausea threatening to consume her. Her eyes watered, and she exhaled slowly, willing herself to become accustomed to the awful odor. Confident she could breathe again without feeling lightheaded, she inhaled slowly and looked to the window. The setting sun dimly lit the room, the pale glow oddly comforting. She hesitantly peeked around her barrier. Her breath caught again, but not because of the smell.

Four years earlier, she had been one of the first people to notice the change in her father's countenance. The way his eyes brightened whenever he had looked at her governess. The gentleness in his voice, the softness of his smile. It had been years since her father had looked so happy, so at peace.

Occasionally over the past four years, she had caught those same looks exchanged between her parents. Expressions different than when they regarded her or her siblings. Smiles reserved only for a man for his wife or she for him. It had never failed to make Brigitta's heart flutter when she caught those glances, to see such devotion between her parents.

But she had never spied on such an intimate moment. Guilt flooded over her at her espionage, but it was overpowered by fascination. She stared, mesmerized, at what she saw and heard.

Her father was sitting next to the bed, illuminated by the setting sun and lone bedside lamp. He held a slack hand in his as his other hand wiped the brow of the exhausted figure lying on the bed. Between them, Brigitta could see the random flailing of an infant's arms.

Her father's profile had been transformed. It glistened with sweat and he wore the faintest of smiles, as if he was afraid to show any happiness. There was moisture under his eyes, more condensed than sweat, and he inhaled what she could have sworn to be a sob.

Brigitta's stomach tightened as she saw his stained shirt, and her eyes wandered to the foot of the bed, where sheets were clumped together, no longer crisp and sharply white.

Her father was whispering something, and Brigitta was relieved that she couldn't make out the words. She had been intrusive enough. He leaned over and kissed the infant's forehead, and his smile seemed to grow just a little.

Tears filled Brigitta's eyes. They didn't deserve the fear overshadowing what should have been one of the happiest moments in their lives. And it was all her fault.

Brigitta started as the door opened. Her father's head whipped around, awaiting the new arrival.

"Father?" Liesl's voice was hesitant. She walked inside, not noticing the huddling teenager behind the chair. "Everyone is worried. I think you should go see them… and they're eager to meet Klara."

The Captain looked down to the bed, his reluctance obvious.

"I'll stay with her," Liesl offered.

Their father's gaze remained on the bed. Brigitta heard the faintest of voices, and her father nodded. He stood and leaned over, kissing the brow he had previously caressed. Scooping up the baby, his smile was a little fuller. He regarded his eldest daughter. "Let's go down together," he suggested.

The group walked by Brigitta, the soft noises of the infant the only sound filling the room. Brigitta held her breath as the door closed quietly behind them. She looked over at the bed, hearing, for the first time, the deep, raspy breaths. Her throat tightened, and her knees felt too weak to support her even as she crouched behind the chair.

Frozen with dread and shame, Brigitta remained still for a long moment. Her earlier resolve to seek absolution had been replaced by the fear of what she would encounter. She could not move.

In the back of her mind, she knew that her father would return soon; she was surprised he had even left. The doctor could also come back at any moment, and _someone_ would come to take those soiled sheets. She had but a few moments.

Taking a deep breath, Brigitta rose and walked to the bed, her footsteps thundering in her ears as they lightly traced along the carpet.

The woman on the bed was motionless, even the deep breaths she was taking failed to animate her chest. Sweat glassed over her face, making her skin shimmer eerily. The sun had set, leaving the muted light of the bedside lamp to illuminate the room. The dullness enhanced the grey hue of the woman's cheeks, and Brigitta blinked. She was unrecognizable.

This was not the same woman who had chased her fears away during a thunderstorm with a silly song about roses and schnitzel. The woman who had made them clothing from draperies and had insisted that their father would be happy to see them having fun. The woman who had showed them Salzburg as they had never seen it before. This was not the woman who had taught them how to sing, and had been the catalyst to their father returning to them. The woman, who, hours earlier, she had hurt so horribly.

Brigitta's vision blurred, and her throat restricted. She crumbled against the bed, her tears spilling on the floor, and her nose squishing against the down comforter. Unforgiving sobs wracked her body, as she struggled to regain her breath. The heat of the evening wrapped around her, cementing her against the bed.

How could she have been so selfish, so consumed with her own desires? Hadn't her parents done anything and everything they could for her? Hadn't they always been there? And how did she repay them? By betraying their trust. By saying things she didn't mean, things just to hurt.

And she had succeeded. She had not only hurt them, but the entire family as well.

Brigitta looked up, clutching at the slack hand. It was frozen to the touch, and terror filled her anew. She pressed it against her cheek, desperate to feel life, to be assured that her earlier lack of judgment wouldn't be permanently rebuked.

This woman had been her family's savior. Since the day she had stepped into their home, she had brought life and love with her. Without even trying, she had taught them how to be a family again. She had taught them how to love again, and how to be loved. It had been so long since Brigitta had felt such peace in her own home, and it was all because of _her_. This woman who was, in every way that mattered, her mother…

"Mamma, please!" she wept. "Please forgive me! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, Mamma…"

She collapsed against the bed again, remorse overpowering her. Sobs shook her again. She couldn't bear this loss. It had been insufferable last time. But now, with her own actions to blame as the cause, it was too much to endure. Her heart raced and she choked back her urgent cries.

"Please Mother," she choked. "Please."

The slight fluttering across her hair was barely noticeable. She remained molded to the bedside, unable to hear anything more than her own weakening cries. The pressure against her scalp returned, caressing her faintly and pulling her from her despair. Brigitta looked up, unsure what she had felt. Whatever breath was left in her lungs evaporated at what she saw.

Her mother was gazing her. The same caring eyes that had regarded her for the past four years were upon her now. Their sparkle was faded, but they still possessed that same affection she had grown so used to and took such comfort in. Her mother's smile was small, but there was no mistaking its emotion.

Guilt washed through Brigitta, and her eyes filled anew.

"Mother, I am so…" her voice caught, and she knew her apology wasn't enough. She squeezed her mother's hand again, wishing she could convey how truly contrite she was. But there weren't any words. Nothing could erase what she had said.

Yet she was still forgiven. It was clear in that weak smile and those loving eyes. Brigitta didn't deserve such a blessing. She stared at her mother, disbelieving.

"Mother, I…" she tried again but still couldn't finish. Her mother's mouth opened slightly.

"Don't talk, please," she pleaded.

Her mother's smile drifted away and her eyes closed. Brigitta's heart raced. "Mother…"

"Brigitta."

Startled, the girl jumped. Her father was standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Brigitta stood slowly as her father walked towards her. She absently noticed that he was alone. He looked down at his wife, his countenance immediately changing. He placed his hand to Maria's forehead, and Brigitta knew he was wishing he could transfer his strength to her. Brigitta looked down. She heard her father clear his throat.

"Let's go outside so she can rest."

Brigitta looked up to him and nodded, suddenly filled anew with shame and fear. Her actions had hurt _both_ of them. Her mother may have forgiven her, but her father would not be so lenient. She steeled herself and followed.

To be concluded...

**A/N:** Ack. Not a good place to stop it, but I had to break up this section somewhere!

My apologies to hepburn-monroe, whose name I mixed up in the first section of gratitude. Sorry, mon aime!

Thank you all for your reviews. They're greatly appreciated.


	3. Part 2 b

"_Let's go outside so she can rest."_

_Brigitta looked up to him and nodded, suddenly filled anew with shame and fear. Her actions had hurt both of them. Her mother may have forgiven her, but her father would not be so lenient. She steeled herself and followed._

They walked out onto the balcony, where the thick air was only slightly lessened by the gentle evening breeze. The moon's glow was getting stronger, casting shadows over the grounds.

Her father didn't say anything. He stared out to the Untersburg, and Brigitta knew he was praying. Whether he was thanking God for the health of his wife and newest child or asking for strength for what he was about to say, she wasn't sure. She swallowed, resolved to accept whatever she clearly deserved.

"The baby is with your brothers and sisters," he said, not turning to look at her.

Brigitta nodded even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"We've named her Klara," he continued.

"I know."

"She's sweet. Red hair, like your…"

Tears welled in Brigitta's eyes again. "I… I can't wait to see her," she stammered.

He turned slowly, studying her. His gaze was piercing, and Brigitta was rendered powerless to even speak. She felt as if she was four years old again in that moment, culpable and terrified of the look in her father's eyes.

"The doctor will be here for at least a day, to keep an eye on her."

"Yes."

"He doesn't think she'll relapse, but he wants to be safe," he continued.

"What – what happened?"

He turned again, finding solace in the stillness of the water. She cast a quick glance back to the room before she heard him clear his throat.

"She was losing too much blood and was becoming too weak to push. Doctor Kessler had to get the baby," he answered, his voice dimming. "She continued to fade and the doctor thought she was hemorrhaging, but she wasn't. He managed to stop it."

Brigitta paled. "Why did she..."

"I'm not sure," he confessed.

Brigitta shuddered. "Will the maids burn those sheets?"

He turned and stared at her. "Yes."

"She will be all right, won't she?"

Finally a smile came to his face. A smile of hope. "The doctor thinks so, and I believe she will. You know how strong she is."

Brigitta's lips wouldn't cooperate to return the expression. Her chin trembled and she looked down.

"The others wondered where you were," he said quietly.

She looked up at him. "I… I had to…"

The smile grew slightly. "I know," he said. Silent for a moment, he sighed and leaned against the barrier. "It wasn't your fault, Brigitta."

Her throat tightened, preventing her refusal.

"Klara had been in an awkward position for at least a week," he continued. "The doctor knew the delivery would be more challenging for your mother."

Brigitta sniffed and wiped her eyes. "But she ran outside," she whispered. "She shouldn't have... because of me…"

He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were compassionate. "She shouldn't have overtaxed herself, but that's Maria," he started. "That's her own emotions getting the better of her judgment. I said I would go after you, but she was behind me. Not even I can stop your mother from doing what she wants."

His words failed to assure Brigitta. "But she wouldn't have –"

His smile was reflective. "You can't erase what has happened, Brigitta, but you also can't blame yourself. It was an accident. You certainly didn't mean for this to happen. We _all_ know that."

Tears filled Brigitta's eyes again, and she looked out to the lake. "I shouldn't have run away."

She heard her father sigh. "No, you shouldn't have."

Her throat constricted tighter. "And what I said… I didn't mean it."

Her father sighed again. "I'm sure you didn't."

"I was just angry."

"I know you were."

"The look on her face…"

"Brigitta." Her father's gaze was compassionate, but words failed him.

"I don't feel that way, Father, I don't," she pleaded. "You don't believe I do, do you?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't."

Brigitta was unconvinced. "I love her just as much as our first Mother."

Her father smiled. "I never doubted that," he said. "Like I said, I know you were upset and wanted to lash out. We have been very blessed with you children over the last years. There are times I thank God for how wonderful you all are. After my atrocious behavior towards you and your siblings after your first mother died, I feel I don't deserve to have your forgiveness."

Brigitta bit the inside of her lip and looked out at the lake.

"You have always been passionate and have spoken your mind," he continued. "But I never thought you would resort to sneaking out of the house."

She turned and stared at him, unable to justify her actions. She had forgotten why she had wanted to go into Salzburg in the first place.

He seemed to understand. "We were just concerned for you, Brigitta."

She blinked furiously. "I know," she whispered. "I know you were. And it was stupid of me to sneak out. If I could take back everything, I would."

He nodded. "Everyone has actions they wish they could erase, but we cannot," he said, a shadow crossing his eyes. "We can only learn from them."

She inhaled. "I won't ever disobey you again," she vowed.

His smile was reflective. "Maybe not, but I would prefer you to be honest with us in the future."

"I am sorry, Father," she said, her voice surprisingly clear.

His arms extended, and she flung herself in his embrace. Silent tears streamed from her eyes, soaking his shirt. He squeezed her tighter, and her heart felt lighter with the realization that both her parents had forgiven her. Now, all she had to do was forgive herself.

"Georg, I – oh, forgive me."

The pair pulled apart and turned to see Dr. Kessler standing in the bedroom, looking contrite at intruding.

The Captain cleared his throat and put his arm on Brigitta's shoulder. His embrace was warm. "It's all right Alfred," he replied.

"I wanted to take her blood pressure," the doctor explained. He looked over to the bed. "Where is the baby?"

"She's downstairs with her siblings," the Captain answered. He squeezed Brigitta tighter. "Which is where we were going anyway." He looked down at her. "Would you like to meet her?"

Brigitta inhaled and wiped the remainder of her tears from her eyes. "Yes, I would love to," she said. They walked into the bedroom. The stale smell had faded, and Brigitta noticed the sheets had been taken away.

She paused and walked to the foot of the bed and stared at her peacefully sleeping mother. She turned to the doctor.

"She _will_ get better, right?"

Dr. Kessler nodded. "She's in the best of care, and I don't mean me," he said, squeezing her shoulder and smiling.

Her father's soft laugh tugged at Brigitta's heart. "Yes, you know how strong her resolve is."

Brigitta nodded and looked over at her father. Despite his reassuring yet sad smile, her stomach tightened. She swallowed, steeling herself to meet her newest sister and face her siblings.

Her father extended his hand. "Let's go, Brigitta," he said.

She inhaled and took his hand, eager to put the day's events behind her. Quietly, they left the bedroom and went to join the others.

**Fin**

**A/N:** Thank you all again for your reviews; they are greatly appreciated!


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